Sweetheart

My neighbor never calls his wife “my wife” he always refers to her as “my sweetheart.”  It’s always struck me as funny and a little old-fashioned, as well as sweet and awfully endearing.  “My Sweetheart.” 

They were married almost 50 years ago when women were not equal to men, and wives were seen as necessary nags, or so he tells me.  He returned from their honeymoon, flush with new love, to the derisive and smutty comments of his co-workers.  This was his wife, his everything.  To them she was the ball and chain, the old bag.  The very word “wife” seemed to call up such negative connotations in the minds of the men around him.  He stopped using it.

To strangers, he refers to her only as Mrs. (their last name).  He commands the respect for her that he knows she deserves but society so often denies her.  His address of her speaks of his great admiration for the woman he married so long ago.  Those who know them well are gifted with the right to call her by name, to the rest of the world, she is his sweetheart.  With one word, he announces his love and affection and places her beyond the ever changing stereotypes.  She is above it all, the woman of his dreams, the smile on his face, the hand he holds, the partner of his lifetime.  She is his only love, his sweetheart.